A Cup of Cambric Tea
by Almyra
Summary: After waking from a nightmare and struggling with old injuries, Peter finds comfort and laughter in the arms of his family. Pure fluffy goodness! PostHorse and His Boy.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Narnia or its Four Sovereigns. Only Palomnus is mine. So suing will get you nowhere and no money, 'cause I don't have any.

**A Cup of Cambric Tea**

He was suffocating. The blow of a giant's war club had crushed his chest, and he was suffocating, drowning in his own blood, dying. The world around him faded, graying into a horrible shade, dirty-white and foggy. He fought, straining through his agony for breath, the pressure inexorable and the pain unbelievable. He knew his lips moved as he struggled to speak, but the words circling in and around him were not of final wisdom or parting command. _Can't breathe, can't breathe, **can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe**…_

Slowly, through the heaviness in his chest and the panic in his mind, he felt the dream beginning to loose its hold and the mist beginning to clear. His eyes opened abruptly and he lay still for several long moments, his sanity scrabbling for purchase against his nightmare. Long, strong fingers gripped the silken bedclothes, the knuckles whitened, and beneath the sheets, a powerful body curled in upon itself, wracked with tension.

Minutes ticked by, and Peter, High King over all kings in Narnia, gradually began to relax as his surroundings became real to him once more. Eventually, the young warrior sat up in bed, one hand massaging the muscles of his chest in a vain effort to relieve the painful effects of his recent injuries. A dull weight remained, however, and Peter fell back onto his pillows with a sigh. The court doctors had advised him to rest as much as possible when suffering these attacks and to bathe in warm, lavender or peppermint-scented water while inhaling the steam, but he refused to wake his valet, Palomnus, over something as foolish as a bad dream.

Sitting once more, Peter rested his elbows on his updrawn knees and tried to focus his thoughts on something other than the mechanics of breathing. Moonlight poured in through the multi-faceted windowpanes of his bedchamber, casting odd shadows over the stone walls and parquet floors. His eyes moved restlessly over the furnishings and décor surrounding him, seeing but uncomprehending the shadows of his cloak carelessly tossed over a chair, maps and instruments littering the small campaign table that had been with him through countless engagements and crusades, the solid mass of his wardrobe across the room; dark shapes of hanging tapestries. He took a sudden, deep breath, feeling sweet oxygen enter his lungs for a fleeting instant, but it was not enough.

"Oh, Aslan, most merciful," he found himself praying, with a tinge of desperation, "grant me peace. Help me." As he always did when distressed, Peter thought of being with the Lion face to face and looking into his fathomless golden eyes. The love he found there never ceased to bring him comfort. He swung his legs out from under the cool silk and stood, stretching to his full height with his hands clasped over his head. Undoing the catch of the windowpane was but the work of a moment, and the High King braced his arms on the sill, gratefully leaning out into the brisk night, far-flung sea spume tickling his nose.

He did not know how long he stayed there, feeling the light breeze brush against his skin, watching the Narnian stars burn in the heavens. He found could breathe a bit easier in the fragrant air, and he felt himself calming, the aftershocks of his nightmare vanishing. A night bird sang in the distance, and Peter smiled. He would gladly sustain a thousand such wounds and endure myriad horrors if it meant keeping his kingdom and his people safe. By the Lion's Mane, how he loved Narnia!

A soft creak broke through his musing, and Peter turned, startled, to see his door open bit by bit, as if the person behind it was being very careful of making too much noise. A hand gripping a lit taper came through first, followed by the lithe figure of a young woman, clad in a soft dressing gown. The flickering candlelight glinted in her light brown hair, which was bound back in a long braid, and her blue eyes looked curiously towards Peter's canopied bed, surprised to see it empty.

"Lu?" he asked, confusion lacing his question, "Is something amiss?"

"No, my lord," she replied, seeing him finally and moving to join him, "I was simply unable to sleep and felt I would see if you were resting quietly. You have not been yourself in these past few days."

Peter turned back to the window, supposing he shouldn't be surprised that his sister would notice and come to see what she could do to help. His chest hitched slightly as he wrestled with inhaling, and Lucy put her hand on his arm. "Peter?" she queried, concerned. "Are you well?"

He shook his head decisively. "Yes!" he managed, bracing himself against the stone windowsill, "I am in no danger, madam. Please don't worry for me."

"But I must, Peter," she said, and amusement now colored her voice, "For you certainly do not worry for yourself!"

He gave her an irritated look, which she returned with a merry smile, "Come, my lord," she said, "If you will stubbornly snub a steam-bath, then let us go down to the kitchens. I will make you a cup of cambric tea, after which you will breathe freely and sleep as soundly as a newborn babe."

"Which in truth isn't very sound," the High King retorted, reaching for his dressing gown and shrugging it over his broad shoulders. "For they cry constantly to be fed."

Lucy, leading the way to the door, cast him a teasing glance over her shoulder. "And the difference is…?" she asked, laughing softly. Peter rolled his eyes. "The wit of a jester, my sister," he complained good-naturedly, following her out.

As the two entered the passageway, the young queen turned to her right and spoke. "Here he is, Palomnus," she said, and another figure carrying a lit candle stepped forward.

"How now, what's this?" Peter asked, although he had half expected to see the entire household waiting outside his bedchamber. To his mind, the members of his court had taken of late a rather inordinate interest in their High King's health, and their passionate concern simultaneously frustrated and touched him deeply.

"Forgive my forward actions, your highness," his valet said, bowing from the waist, "but I woke suddenly and could not avoid hearing some small sounds of distress from your royal majesty's chamber. As I perceived you might treat more gently with an offer of aid from your valiant sister than from your pesky servant, I appealed to her tender heart, and of her kindness, she went in to you."

Peter had folded his arms sternly during the faun's speech, but his attempts at a rebuking expression were failing miserably. Lucy was smiling openly behind her taper at her eldest brother's consternation. "He didn't disturb me," she said, "I spoke truly when I told you I was unable to sleep."

"Conspiracy and plots against me," Peter threw up his hands, "By the Lion, what king has ever had such subjects?"

"Or sisters," Lucy responded, taking hold of his arm, "but come, beloved, the kitchens await."


	2. Chapter 2

Some way down the passage, another door was wrenched open as they passed, and a very grumpy-looking Edmund looked out, his deep brown eyes almost black in the dim light. "I'd like to remind you all that some here are trying to sleep," he snapped frowsily, "and can do without parties in the hallway at four in the morning!" Then his gaze fastened on Peter's pale face and he instantly came fully awake, straightening, his mouth compressing into a thin line.

"Brother?" he asked sharply, "Are you ill?"

Peter tried to sigh in response and insist everyone was overreacting, but the pressure in his chest had steadily increased since he came out of the fresh night breeze, and all that passed his lips was a hissing wheeze. Lucy gave a sharp little cry, and Edmund darted forward out of his bedchamber, swearing softly. He got in beside his brother and lifted Peter's left arm over his shoulder. "Do you have his medicines?" he said to Palomnus, who trotted ahead of them with the light, worry lining his usually cheerful face. "Yes, my king," the faun replied, holding aloft an ornately carved wooden box, "They are to hand."

"Good," grunted the young man, supporting the High King's tall frame as they went along. "Peter, by Aslan's mane, are you determined to make an end of yourself? Fie, my lord, for not calling us as soon as the fit came upon you! Fie and for shame!" Edmund's voice was sharp with anger, and in spite of his struggle, Peter grinned.

"Yes, mum," he said hoarsely, and behind them, Lucy laughed merrily. "Caught on your own hook halfway, eh, Edmund, dear?" she asked lightly. Edmund's reply was an incoherent growl, for he had been gleefully hoisted on that particular petard more times than he could count, and the fun did not seem likely to end any time soon.

With Palomnus leading the way and Lucy bringing up the rear, the two kings made their way down the spiraling back stairway of their royal quarters to the main floor of the castle. They crossed the grand receiving chambers, their bare feet making hardly any noise and Palomnus's hooves clitter-clattering, echoing off the slickly polished floors and around the dark expanse. Into the Great Hall they went, through a broad archway at the side, down another set of stairs, and finally into the huge palace kitchens, where wide expanses of glowing, banked coals slumbered peacefully in the great fireplaces.

"Bring him over here, Ed, if you please," Lucy said, coming around her brothers and leading them over to a pair of sturdy wooden worktables. Placing her candlestick on a roughened and pitted surface, she pulled a bench out from underneath as Edmund carefully lowered him down.

"Palomnus, would you open the room?" she asked, "The cool air might bring succor." The graying faun nodded respectfully – "I hear and obey, my queen." – and hurried to throw open the wooden double doors leading out onto the seafront. Edmund, meanwhile, took Lucy's abandoned candle and proceeded to light the hanging lanterns and the torches in their brackets on the walls, until they could see one another's faces clearly and without squinting.

The ocean breeze immediately made its presence known, and the crashing of the surf came faintly to their ears. "There, Peter," said Lucy, brushing her brother's thick hair back with soothing fingers, "Does that help?"

His heart breaking with love for them all, Peter nodded, his breathing laden with effort. Palomnus came back to the table and opened the box of medicines, taking from it a round tin and unscrewing the lid. Edmund, who had seated himself on the tabletop at Peter's left shoulder, choked at the strong herbal smell and pinched his nose. "You'd bedder nod try to hidt with that stuff smeart all over you, brother," he said stuffily, "A blinte ant deaf owl could finte you with no trouble."

"And that, my liege, is exactly the point," said the faun as he took a clean cloth from the box, dipped it into the paste, and, drawing the High King's dressing gown off, began gently applying the potent mix of herbs to the young warrior's chest. He worked in silence for a time, with the younger king and queen watching, anxiety painting their faces. Peter's breathing remained shallow, but it was no longer quite so labored, and the fear began to leave his eyes. Edmund, whose sharp gaze rarely missed much, put a calloused hand on his brother's muscular shoulder and squeezed.

"How about that cambric tea, Lu?" Peter finally asked, once he'd recovered enough to speak without pain, "If it would not trouble you overmuch."

"Of course not," Lucy said in mock indignation, "I promised it to you, did I not? At least, it was the bait to get you out of your chamber. Beware, though - I always pour too much milk."

"Into what?" a new, musical voice asked, and the four turned in surprise to see Susan coming across the kitchens to them, tall and regal in a white nightgown, a silver candlestick in her right hand. Palomnus bowed low, and Edmund jumped up, at the same time putting a firm hand on Peter's shoulder to prevent him from rising himself.

"Good morrow, sister," he said, greeting her with a light kiss on the cheek and taking the candle from her. "What wakens you at this hour?"

"What appears to be great misfortune, dear brother," she responded, her dark eyes settling on the High King, "I heard all of you in the passageway and I grew fearful. Art thou poorly?" This was directed at Peter, who grimaced at hearing the same question a third time. "I am recovering, Susan," he answered, waving a hand dismissively. "An ill dream brought on a light attack, nothing more."

"He was asking for a cup of cambric tea, Susan," Lucy said, "and you're really the best of us all in making it. Won't you, for Peter?"

Susan smiled, and even rumpled by sleep, her beauty was remarkable. "For Peter," she replied, "and for the rest of us. I believe we could all benefit from a cup, since we are all awake."

"'Tis truth, thanks entirely to that lovely herbal rub of yours, Peter," Edmund muttered, and Lucy swatted him playfully. Susan made her way to the nearest fireplace and used a cast iron hook to swing the crane over within reach. She tested the heat of the metal and then plucked a kettle from the crane and held it out towards Lucy. "Lucy, beloved, would you fill this from the Pride and Joy for me, please? Edmund, would you prepare the fire? I will pay a visit to the creamery for the milk."

Her siblings jumped into action at her words, and Peter shifted on the bench, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Might I do something to assist you, fair sister?" he asked. Susan came back to him and laid a cool, slender hand against his cheek in benediction. "No, my lord," she said, "Be at peace." With a soft rustle of fine fabric, she moved away.

"Best to do as she commands, your majesty," Palomnus said with a twinkle as he repacked the box of medicines, "Wouldn't want you having a second attack in less than an hour, now, would we?" Peter grimaced in his valet's direction and settled himself in to wait.


	3. Chapter 3

As her older brother stoked the fire, Lucy filled the kettle from a tap set into the wall over a pair of massive stone sinks, the marvel which had been one of Edmund's first projects as king. He had commissioned a large cistern in the tower above the kitchens and had helped lay the piping himself alongside the workers. He had been so delighted with the project's success, that his brother and sisters had initially called it "Edmund's pride and joy." By now, however, having been at it for so long, they simply referred to it as the "Pride and Joy," and the servants and especially the kitchen staff mostly did the same.

By the time the kettle started bubbling merrily away over a crackling fire, Susan returned from the creamery with a chilled stone pitcher of milk. Lucy procured five earthenware goblets from the buttery and set them out on the worktable in a neat row. The eldest queen wrapped a thick cloth around the kettle handle and poured out the hot water, stirring in dollops of fresh, rich cream skimmed from the top of the milk, and adding the final touches each liked best – lemon for Edmund, honey for herself and Lucy, and tonight, _very_ generous splashes of brandy for Palomnus and Peter. When all was ready, Susan presented Peter with his goblet first, and he offered up the thanksgiving to Aslan before closing his eyes and taking a sip. The others quickly followed suit.

"Oh, Su," he murmured, melting against the hard worktable, "More delectable than anything found in the stores of Calormen. Better than the sweetest meats of Archenland. And even, I daresay, more satisfying than the greatest feasts of our own fair Narnia. Your skill increases with each batch."

"Most delicious, my gracious highness," Palomnus added, "My gratitude abounds."

"I just cannot fathom how you put in the exact amount of milk every time, sister," Lucy said, staring into her goblet as if it would yield up Susan's secret.

"I've had plenty of practice," was her eldest sister's reply, "and a good teacher."

"Who?" Edmund asked curiously, as he squeezed a few more drops of juice from the lemon quarter into his drink.

There was a long pause. Peter glanced up at Susan to see her sitting with her fingers wrapped tightly around her goblet, a far-away, almost dreamlike expression on her face. Eventually, she spoke.

"Mother," she said, and this brought with it a profound silence.

"It seems so long ago," Susan continued, still contemplative. "Do you recall her making us cambric tea after those particularly bad air raids?" Lucy shook her head no, but Peter nodded.

"Not very well," Edmund said somberly. "I don't remember anything of England very well. It's all so foggy somehow."

"Is it bad not to remember?" Lucy whispered then, to no one in particular, "and is it horrid of me not to care I don't?" Her question hung in the air, unanswered by her siblings, and Palomnus, wisely, said nothing – merely sipped at his tea and listened, his bright eyes moving to each of his sovereigns' faces in turn.

Finally Peter shook himself slightly, a little shivering motion rippling across his skin. "Aslan placed us here in Narnia to carry out his perfect will," he said, his voice firm – the High King taking command of a situation and rendering judgment. "If he wishes it, he will send us back to that other world. For the present, fair consorts, let us further enjoy the drinks our royal sister made for us out of the kindness of her heart," he smiled at Susan, who gracefully inclined her head, "and spend no more dreary thoughts on what once was."

The spell broken, each busied himself with his goblet, and it wasn't long before Lucy was doing a quick washing up in the scullery. Palomnus extinguished the lights and relit their candles, while Susan shut the outside doors, and Edmund, after banking the fire once more, took charge of Peter.

"Are you recovered, brother?" Edmund asked quietly, as the older king drew on his dressing gown. "Are you in need of further aid?"

"I am well," Peter said, inhaling easily and finding the horrible pressure gone. "I feel as though I will fall asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow."

Edmund gave him a long, appraising look and then grinned. "I say truly, my lord, if you are able to fall asleep smelling like you do, there is little that can keep you awake."

The loud yelp that followed startled the queens and Palomnus from their chores, and they glanced up to see Peter chasing Edmund from the kitchen, his dressing gown billowing behind him.

"Oh botheration," Lucy exploded, slightly vexed, "Peter should know better! And they'll both trip over something in the dark and break their noses or bark their shins, and then we'll have to stitch them up. Come on, Susan." Drying her hands, she took up one of the candlesticks and followed her brothers up the stairs.

She found the High King in the Great Hall, standing completely still, leaning forward slightly as he focused on the darkness around him, attentive to the slightest sound, the slightest movement. He held up a hand sharply as she came up, and she stopped, puffing with irritation. Suddenly he swung around and in one swift moment pinched out the flame of her candle and slid behind her. "Peter Pevensie!" she hissed, "Cease this foolishness! Fie on you, do you wish to have another fit? You're just asking for trouble!"

"Hush, Lu," he whispered, laying a finger against her lips, "Ed's here somewhere, and your squawking just gave me away."

Completely indignant, the youngest queen of Narnia was about to tell her brother where to step off when Susan and Palomnus came up the kitchen stairs together with their candles, the light pooling before them. Just as they stepped out into the Great Hall, Edmund came flying out of the darkness with a terrific shout, his hands raised above his head, fingers splayed. Both young women shrieked, Susan dropped her candle, Palomnus bleated in shock, and Peter leaped forward, grabbing his younger brother and wrestling him into a headlock. They were still tussling when everyone else had reclaimed their candles and their dignity.

"Oh, very smart, you two," Susan said scathingly, "Simply brilliant. Peter, are you a complete idiot? Edmund, stop that at once! What are you trying to do, wake the whole castle or set the place on fire?"

The brothers separated, laughing in convulsive gulps, and the High King bent with his hands on his knees. "Exercise is good for me," he said, panting, "Or so I've been told. Toughens the lungs."

"Oooh, Peter!" Lucy exclaimed, wishing she could strangle him, "If you don't behave, I'll bring out my cordial and cure you completely! There's plenty left!"

Peter shot her a glance. "You know my orders, Lu," he said, straightening, "Only in direst circumstances."

"Your highness, if you do not take care, you may be in poor enough health to warrant its use." Palomnus said disapprovingly, and Peter sighed. "Perhaps," he conceded. "But am I not even allowed to defend myself against the slander cast upon me by my own brother?"

"No!" Lucy said, crossing to him and taking his arm, "It's not slander if it's true. You do smell a little ripe, my lord."

A roar of laughter went up at this and the subsequent expression on the High King's face. "Abuse is all I suffer," he said, tapping Lucy's nose with his forefinger, "Be wary, my sister, or it may come back to haunt you."

She raised her brow archly at him in response as they returned to the royal quarters. "We shall see, brother," she said, "We shall see."

Susan left them at her chambers after giving each of her siblings a warm hug. They gave her their thanks for making the tea, and she retired with a smile. At Edmund's rooms, the brothers clasped arms briefly and the younger king kissed Lucy on the forehead. "Sleep well, both of you," he said, pinching his nose with his brown eyes twinkling. He had to duck quickly inside before Peter could reach him, and his laughter came to them from behind the closed door.

Palomnus had trotted on ahead, and he stood in the entrance of Peter's chamber, ready to usher him inside. Peter paused with Lucy on the threshold. She faced him seriously, her mirth subdued. "Is there anything else you require?" she asked, "I would be pleased to sit with you for a time."

"No thank you, Lucy," he responded, pulling her gently into a close embrace. "You have been a hero tonight, as always and as ever. I know I will sleep peacefully."

She held him tightly for a moment, her face pressed against his shoulder, and then stepped back. "I will see you on the morrow, then, my lord. May Aslan keep you until then."

"May Aslan keep you, beloved," Peter replied and watched her go down the passageway and into her own chambers before turning to his valet. "Lead on," he said.

The faun helped Peter off with his dressing gown and into bed, drawing the coverings up and snug. "Leave the bed curtains, please, Palomnus," Peter said, "and the window open. The fresh air will ease my rest."

"Very good, your majesty," Palomnus said. "Do not hesitate to call me, should you require anything at all."

Peter smiled wryly. "I will," he said, and Palomnus gave him a slightly reproving look before entering his own small sleeping chamber and leaving the High King alone once more. He lay back against his mound of pillows and looked out through the open window. He could just see the fading stars winking against the midnight velvet of the night sky. Peter took several deep breaths and found himself yawning mightily. "Thank you, Aslan," he whispered in prayer, "for restoring me. And most especially for giving me such a family as this." And he fell asleep to sweetened dreams, knowing he had been heard.

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_**AN: **I decided to put this at the end, so I could blather on to those who care to read and not annoy those who don't. Thanks, and don't forget to review!_

_Now, note #1: Peter's injury. Here in my sandbox, Peter suffered massive blunt trauma to the chest during his campaign against the giants on the Northern frontier (as this piece is actually a companion to my much longer work, For Ever Kneel'd). In doing research on the injury, I came to the conclusion that I could indeed, as I gleefully said to my husband, "crush Peter's chest and get away with it." Yes, he gave me the same look you're no doubt giving the screen now. All this TMI to say that I am not medically trained and only did the basic research and felt I should explain myself. :o)_

_Note #2: Speech! As this story comes after The Horse and His Boy, I tried to keep the speech consistent with that book. I'm always a little put off by the formality when I come to the very end of LWW, and so while I tried to avoid that extreme, I also tried to keep what there is natural. Always a struggle!_

_Note #3 (yes, the last one): Lucy's cordial. In The Horse and His Boy, Lucy laments that Peter has strictly charged her not to carry her cordial commonly to battles. One can therefore extrapolate from this that the High King has decided opinions on what calls for a use of the magic cordial and what does not (I mean, not carrying it to battle in which his siblings might be injured grievously? Not sure what he was thinking there…). I'm sure the cordial would do its work in an instant, but Lewis has already given me an excuse for keeping this a story… :o)_

_Thanks for reading, and don't forget to review!_


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